


the process of progression (or the idiot's guide to delaying murder)

by Donatello (jollypuppet)



Series: the chronicles of stiles' sofa [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Other, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-13
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jollypuppet/pseuds/Donatello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn't trust Derek, and he's almost positive that Derek will never trust him, either, but that's the one thing that they can trust about one another. They can trust that mutual distrust above all things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the process of progression (or the idiot's guide to delaying murder)

**Author's Note:**

> So, [Spouse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieMinor) decided to get me watching Teen Wolf, and as I caught up yesterday, I thought I'd try my hand at the whole Sterek relationship, just to get a feel for it, really. And this is what happened.
> 
>  **EDIT** : This could be considered something of a companion piece to [hypotheses of self-destruction (woe has never looked better on you)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/459102) but they can both work on their own.

Stiles sometimes gets to know the police dogs.

It’s not like anybody’s surprised to hear about it, and it’s even less likely that someone would actually  _ask_  him about the marvelous misadventures he has with some of the dogs he’s seen around the station. His dad sometimes brings some of his friends from work over for a cookout or a Christmas celebration, and they always bring their kids and wives and their dogs, of course.

More often than not, he doesn’t actually ever  _talk_  to any of his dad’s friends. Sure, they’re all completely nice people, but their kids probably aren’t even eight years old and all they themselves ever want to talk about is… well, he doesn’t know, insurance? Paperwork? What do people that old talk about, anyway?

So he hangs out with the dogs. And it’s pretty awesome, in his opinion.

Sometimes there’s only one, sometimes there’s an upwards of four or five, and they’re let out into the backyard so they can run around and play and enjoy the good weather and the open space. The first time Stiles ever had the idea to make friends with a bunch of furry puppies (read as: stupid assumption) he sat himself on the back porch and was surprised when no big, fluffy animal ran over to him with a stick to throw or a dead thing or something.

His surprise had only heightened, though, when one of the dogs (the shiny silver tag around its neck read Cyprus, weird name for a dog) had perched itself, all good posture and pointed ears, right in front of him, unmoving and calm.

“Hey, buddy.” he had said quietly, a lot less bored now that there was a dog that seemed relatively interested in him, and he had leaned forward slowly, his hand outstretched and open to pat the dog’s head.

What he had gotten was a bared set of canines and a deep-throated growl.

His knowledge of police dogs (he calls them Professional Pooches, mostly to amuse himself) has improved since then, and now, whenever his dad’s friends visit with their dogs, he knows that if Cyprus ever ends up in his company that he should just… sit.

Because, eventually, after a few instances of the dog sniffing him almost from afar and watching him dauntingly, Cyprus had moved his perch to right next to Stiles’ seat, and sat there, companionable and quiet for the rest of his stay.

That’s what the dog does. He calls them Professional Pooches for more than just amusement — they’re not horribly personal, and they’re definitely not trusting, but they’re loyal and adamant and incredibly grounded to the point that he sometimes wonders if they were etched from stone.

Not many weeks later, Stiles gets to know Derek Hale.

And trust him, the relationship definitely isn’t loyal or adamant in any way, shape, or form, neither in the beginning nor in the bulk of the… dubious friendship or indirect partnership or whatever. Stiles doesn’t trust Derek, and he’s almost positive that Derek will never trust him, either, but that’s the one thing that they can trust about one another. They can trust that mutual distrust above all things.

 _That’s_  where their… whatever you want to call it, friendship or acquaintanceship or what have you, starts to take form.

There’s a pack, there will always be a pack, there will always be Erica and Isaac and Boyd, and Jackson will be running around, the lost soul that he is, but Derek is so detached and angry and so utterly  _Derek_  that Stiles knows his grasp of human interaction — werewolf or otherwise — will never be as strong as it was when it was first reignited.

That being, Scott McCall and Stiles.

Scott’s busy, though. He’s always busy, always studying with Allison or on a date with Allison or at the movies with Allison or trying not to get murdered by Allison’s father, so he can’t really bother to spare Derek the time to hang out or get to know one another (not that Derek asks him for that, or even suggests it — he’s all about that brooding loneliness that Stiles is pretty sure was popularized in  _Twilight_.) And it’s not like Stiles has anything better to do, and he knows for a fact that dogs are social creatures (he’s been around them all his life, so not even Derek can lie to him about that) and, whatever, he’s a human and not a part of the pack, but  _he’s been there from the beginning_.

He’s different, in that way. Stiles is different.

It’s definitely not a progressive relationship, not one that either of them even try at, really, but it just sort of casually  _happens_ , like they end up in the same place or they end up speaking, and it just… develops.

“So, have you ever seen  _Silver Bullet_?” Stiles says one night, quietly, into the flickering lights of the gas pump or to the dusky stars in the sky. He’s not wrong, though.

“At least don’t make me  _want_  to kill you.”

Stiles just shrugs and doesn’t turn his eye from the sky, waits for his Jeep to fill up before actually bringing his eyes down. He doesn’t have to look to know that Derek is leaning on the Jeep next to him.

He tilts his chin up. “You don’t strike me as a Stephen King admirer, though.”

Stiles can’t help but beam, and he pokes Derek’s shoulder. “So you  _have_  seen it!”

Derek roles his eyes, but there’s something like a tug at his mouth, almost like he’s about to snarl or bare his teeth, or like he’s about to bark at something in the distance, but Stiles honestly likes to think that, for once, he made Derek Hale grin. Almost, at least.

Their conversations go something like that, more or less. Stiles will make some quip about a werewolf movie, Derek will make fun of him, they’ll sit in silence. Derek will talk about the betas, Stiles will talk about Scott or Allison or Lydia, they’ll sit in silence.

They sit in silence a lot, but Stiles is never uncomfortable, which is odd. He has to be one of the most awkward kids he knows, the kind of person who could make the most comfortable situation perceivable by the human conscious feel unsettling in a moment, but here he is, standing by a gas pump or reading in his room or driving down the road or at the movies with Derek Hale, probably the scariest person in the world, perhaps the person he trusts least of the people he knows (save a few special cases) and he couldn’t feel more at ease.

He’s reminded of Cyprus, constantly. Loyal, adamant, unmoving, like he’s made of stone. Derek’s more of a dog than Stiles could ever even have imagined, but in such a good way that he’s surprised — almost moved, even.

One night, Stiles rents  _Underworld: Awakening_  and Derek’s in his living room soon enough.

“This is a horrible movie.” Derek grumbles halfway through, and Stiles almost doesn’t notice, too wrapped up in the onscreen action to really care about the quality. But he laughs and seems to huddle himself even further into the corner of the couch, and he holds out his box of Skittles to Derek.

He shakes the box questioningly. “You want one?”  
  
The werewolf grimaces and shifts his attention back to the screen, and Stiles considers it a victory that he hasn’t left yet. It’s a bit of a startling revelation, to realize that he enjoys Derek’s company (or at least finds some kind of retribution in it) but he also can’t really be bothered.

A moment later, Derek snatches the box away from him and pours a few into his hand.

Stiles smiles then. “Well, the beginning and the middle aren’t that great,” he starts. He sits forward, leaning as if to see the TV better, and Derek eyes him warily. He just grins, “but I can guarantee you that the ending isn’t half bad.”


End file.
